


Shroom Party

by Lillian



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Anal Sex, Getting Together, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-09-17 20:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16981332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian/pseuds/Lillian
Summary: Tony and Peter are sex pollened, sex and watersports ensue. Part 2 includes the aftermath.





	1. Chapter 1

Peter's on his belly on the ground, Tony lying on top of him, keeping his knees open with his legs while Peter obligingly angles his lean rump up for Tony to fuck. It's comfortable, no motion or energy wasted. Almost feels like they can fuck this way for days without stopping. Or they could, if Tony didn't need to take a piss. He wasn't even aware of it before, during the worst of it, but now his head feels clearer and he's becoming aware of his body beyond the mindless need to rut. He feels both worse and better than he has in years.

Every muscle feels pleasantly over-exerted and oiled with adrenaline rush. Tony’s mind buzzes euphorically without the surreal fogginess or extreme clarity of drugs, and boy, has he missed this feeling, this kind of sensual freedom. His dick feels raw, overused and all the more swollen and sensitive for it, and Peter's puffy asshole tugs so sweetly on him on every outward stroke, sucks him in so greedily every time he thrusts in. Peter's getting needier the longer this lasts, pressing his wet cheek and bitten lips against the back of Tony's hand ever since Tony reached out over Peter's shoulder to lace their fingers together and hold on. They will get through this, Tony promised Peter that, repeated it till he was hoarse because it had to be true. It all seems distant now, but then again right now Tony's able to think just enough to realize he's far from back to his usual mindset.

For example, he knows when this is over he’ll tear himself up with guilt. He knows things with Peter will never be the same, that this will mess the kid up like his stint as an Avenger and Tony’s usual charming company hadn’t come close to. Yet for now all he can feel is tenderness, gratitude and lust. Tony buries his nose in Peter’s sweaty curls, noses there fondly, sucks the side of his ear into his mouth to suck and bite. Peter mouths something against Tony’s knuckles, maybe Tony’s name, maybe something more.

It’s the best, closest, most satisfying sex of Tony’s life and it came about because smuggled alien mushrooms released their spores at the worst possible time. 

And it doesn't feel like a big deal now, after everything, when they’re so close and so in tune, to still deep inside Peter the next time he comes, ignoring Peter's indignant little buck of protest at the interruption, and use the momentary softening in his erection to release a stream of hot piss deep inside Peter's asshole. Peter starts groaning half a second after Tony does.

"Mr. Stark, what... it stings..." he slurs out weakly, and Tony covers Peter's neck and shoulder with gentle kisses as he continues to piss. It takes a while, he had quite the build up, and it feels almost as good as coming had. Such a relief. 

"It's fine, Pete. Almost done," he reassures, but he knows Peter liked it too. Neither of them can help liking it now.

The last few drops squeeze out of him and into Peter. Tony uses the hand Peter isn't clutching to reach down and tug on Peter's rim a little until the warm mix of come and piss starts pouring out of him and down both their legs. Peter moans again and Tony pats his trembling thigh, a casual gesture meaning “doing good, spiderling” and Peter shivers gently as he comes as well. Tony starts thrusting again without thinking.


	2. Afterparty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the sex pollen bacchanalia, from Peter's pov.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This doesn't have as much watersports or kinking on watersports as the first, but it's there. I hope you like it, I just felt like a sequel.

A month later Peter wondered if it would ever be over.

It wasn't over when Peter woke up as Mr. Stark covered him with a blanket, ever so careful not to touch. The blanket was new and clean-smelling and Mr. Stark wore slacks and a white t-shirt that looked just as pristine. He'd found a pair of wayfarers with mirrored lenses somehow. He even wore a clinical expression to match. It all conspired to make Peter feel acutely just how dirty he was, stale sweat and sticky skin and the mess between his thighs that didn't bear thinking about, all of it next to Tony Stark looking cool and attractively bed-headed, the muscles in his arms gleaming with the sheen of a good workout. Under the humiliating cover of the blanket Peter's body went from a sleepy half-curl into a tense ball and still Mr. Stark made no move to touch Peter.

It wasn't over when Mr. Stark explained, from the same careful distance, that he'd had to call it in, that the whole block had been cut off, that a portable decontamination chamber was being assembled downstairs and that a private ambulance helicopter was waiting on the rooftop to ferry Peter to the compound medical wing since there had been no place for the jet to park within the perimeter. Of course Peter would be sterilized, neutralized and shipped off somewhere away from Mr. Stark asap. Of course.

It wasn't over that night, the lights turned low in Peter's compound bedroom, after he'd endured a hundred tests and a professionally sympathetic doctor informing him that Mr. Stark's last few physicals had shown no indications of STDs or other communicable deceases. Peter could almost imagine Mr. Stark asking her to do it, to "ease the kid's mind" or something, the arguments he must have made to himself for why it would come off better from anyone else but him, and if Peter could hate Mr. Stark for anything he would for bringing all these people into it, for running under the guise of acting responsible, except of course Peter could never hate Mr. Stark.

It wasn't over when a no doubt very expensive therapist messaged Peter about making an appointment. These days Mr. Stark answered all of Peter's calls, even the one he made at 3 in the morning just to test if he could get away with it, and said all the correct things and nothing Peter wanted to hear.

It wasn't over when Peter's ancient, resignedly compartmentalized crush on Mr. Stark flared up in newly vivid wet dreams Peter shouldn't be having at the ripe old age of twenty. They were more memory than fantasy, sometimes beginning at the first time, Peter on his back on the floor, his heels digging into Mr. Stark’s back just above his ass to spur him on while Peter undulated to meet every rough thrust. It was so good, so easy, there was no doubt or hesitation or awkwardness even though it was Peter's first time. He didn't even know what he wanted until he was doing it and then he only reveled in how right and amazing it felt to get fucked, for Mr. Stark's thick, uncovered cock to stretch him out and use him with no unnecessary ceremony while Mr. Stark's mouth dispensed wet, filthy kisses with an incongruous finesse between playfully biting at Peter's jaw and collarbone. Peter could not imagine feeling more needed during sex.

Other times Peter's mind cut to the part when he was on his belly, dizzy with how much he wanted more even though coming didn't help, it only made him more desperate for the next high, made that high a little harder to obtain. It was what addiction must feel like, Peter thought fleetingly just before Mr. Stark stopped moving, still buried deep inside and just- Peter could not imagine feeling more owned than he did when Mr. Stark took a leisurely piss in his ass. As if Peter's ass was so warm and snug he couldn't bear to pull out for one second. Like Peter's ass was Mr. Stark's to use however he wanted.

Peter had never even fantasized about this, and not like in the way he carefully hadn't masturbated to the thought of Mr. Stark fucking him, with the idea hovering constantly on the edges of his mind. It simply hadn't occurred to him, it just wasn't an option until it was and then it left him shocked and shaking and leaking piss while Mr. Stark kept on fucking him like it was a marathon and Mr. Stark was only just hitting his stride.

So Peter went to lectures and out for errands for Aunt May - and what Aunt May didn't know wouldn't kill her - and for training on weekends, trying not to think about which Avengers were briefed about that mission. (Colonel Rhodes and Doctor Banner didn't know, Black Widow knew and pretended not to, but not so well that Peter wouldn't guess and presumably appreciate the gesture, and these head games were the reason he'd never like or trust her for real. He wasn’t sure about the others.) Mr. Stark didn't quite avoid him but he made sure never to be left alone with Peter again. There was more than a distance there. More and more Peter wondered if it was a fracture and the thought terrified him. Perhaps, and Peter was so careful not to think about this until he couldn't avoid to, perhaps it was disappointment on Mr. Stark's part. Mr. Stark had wanted Peter to be better than him, and now maybe he thought Peter had been... sullied beyond repair instead.

Peter told himself it was a stupid thought, that Mr. Stark wouldn't blame him for something they were both forced into, and yet.

He agreed to the therapy, hoping that would appease Mr. Stark. He went in and sat in the armchair and suffered through the preliminaries. Then the woman asked him how he felt about the incident and Peter's spider sense went haywire. A tiny Stark drone skittered out of view behind a flowerpot on the desk, but it was too late, Peter had seen it. His mind spun and spun in a hurt loop, because of course Mr. Stark would listen in. Or course. He needed to find more excuses to keep away from Peter after all. Well, Peter would give him some good ones.

He said exactly how he felt about _the incident_. His capacity for shame and humiliation must have been overloaded, so he didn't hold anything back, not even the part Mr. Stark hadn't trumpeted far and wide because he didn’t know. So Peter shared how much he'd loved it all, how happy he was to have Mr. Stark touching him even if he'd felt guilty because it was against Mr. Stark's will. How much he regretted that he could never have Mr. Stark this way again, and how much it tore at him that he'd lost even Mr. Stark's friendship, or whatever it was Peter used to have with him, over _the incident_. How much he would give for Mr. Stark to fuck him again, for Mr. Stark to own him for good. Once he was finished he took a couple of moments to get his ragged breathing under control. Then he left.

He came back to the compound and read the same page of his biochemistry textbook over and over again. He wondered when Mr. Stark would have time to listen to the recording. He was in Belgium now, finishing up some amendment to the Accords. Peter was just wondering if he should patrol when Mr. Stark slammed the door open. Peter leapt to his feet, wondering if there was an emergency, taking Mr. Stark in - he looked strange, as if he was fully there with Peter for the first time ever. Peter had always felt like an afterthought, or at best like one of the many plates Mr. Stark was juggling. And that was fine, more than fine with Peter, better than he ever thought he could get. He'd never seen Mr. Stark looking at him like Peter was the only thing on his mind.

The kissing was so much different than the first time. Mr. Stark was tender and nasty, as if he cared about Peter and blamed him for this at the same time. His kiss was one long tease, superficial but with a lot of tongue, drawing Peter to respond and then mockingly switching rhythm. It was a kiss that said, _I've a lifetime of experience on you, kid, you'll never catch up_ and Peter softened like butter in the sun at the very thought, at his own clumsiness and Mr. Stark's unmentorly abandon.

He sucked off Mr. Stark while he sat on Peter's own bed, sprawled confidently among Peter's notes like he owned the place, which he did. It was Peter's first blowjob and it was a good thing he wanted Mr. Stark's dick too much to worry about how well he was doing. He took it out already half hard and bobbing, licked it from root to tip like a lollipop, kissed the head reverently. Mr. Stark groaned and put his hand on the back of Peter's head, the order clear, and Peter's lips opened to suck on the very tip. It was so nice, velvety and savory in his mouth that Peter lapped at it. He could have happily just suckled the tip forever, but Mr. Stark probably wanted Peter to take in more, and Peter so wanted to please Mr. Stark.

He sucked in more of Mr. Stark's cock, so thick now it was uncomfortable to stretch around. He must have been taking too long because Mr. Stark's grip tightened and he started fucking Peter's mouth, quickly and selfishly. His other hand caressed Peter's hair almost mindlessly, traced the tip of his ear. Peter's jaw hurt, his throat felt sore and used even though Mr. Stark only went deep enough to tease entering it, paused there meanly for a second before pulling back. Tears were welling in his eyes and his cock was so needy humping Mr. Stark's leg was starting to seem like a viable option.

Then Mr. Stark pulled out so abruptly Peter's head would have snapped back if not for the hold on it. Mr. Stark rubbed his cock very deliberately against Peter's cheek, just once, smearing spit and pre-come there, before reaching for Peter's belt.

Peter tried to help but he was so eager to get fucked again he got in Mr. Stark's way instead. Mr. Stark pushed him down on the carpet, pulled off Peter's jeans and boxers in one expert swoop, and stuck two broad fingers into Peter's mouth. He didn't even wait for Peter to lick them, he just swirled them to coat them in Peter's saliva, slid them out and stabbed them into Peter's asshole once before pulling them out and wiping the excess spit against it. Peter was making sounds now, continual, needy sounds he couldn’t stop. Mr. Stark was on his knees. He pulled Peter's ass in his lap, lined up until the tip was kissing Peter's hole like Peter had kissed it only minutes before. Mr. Stark's face was in shadow, the window at his back and Peter couldn't see his expression as he gripped the back of Peter's thigh and fed him his cock, inch by fat inch. He fucked Peter without hurrying, like he was savoring it.

Then he groaned, his head hung down and his whole body unfolded and fell down into Peter. This close Peter could see how pained he looked, the numerous beautiful lines of his face shifting to something sharp and feral. He pushed Peter's hair back from his forehead and wiped his tears, still fucking him.

"Sweetheart," he said, a honey rasp. "You can have whatever you want. I'll do anything, anything for you."

Peter shuddered and seized and painted his own twitching stomach with come, untouched. Mr. Stark lasted a long time, murmuring things, rubbing bristly kisses into Peter's skin until he came deep inside with his hands convulsively clutching Peter's hips.

Peter thought it was all perfect, that it couldn't possibly be any better, and then Mr. Stark pulled out, still half-hard, and calmly pissed all over Peter's face and chest, and Peter realized he'd been wrong. _Now_ it was perfect.


End file.
